Bloody Sunday
by xDracoGenesisx
Summary: "If he had seen it coming, he would have prepared... But Ivan Braginski could not predict the pain that came to him that day." - Drabblish; historically-based.


**A/N: Just a quick note to say that this is based off of a part of my historical head cannon for Russia. I recommend listening to **_**Paralyzed **_**by Brian "Head" Welch while reading this. Enjoy!**

_**Sunday, January 22**__**nd**__**, 1905**_

If he had seen it coming, he would have prepared. He would have braced himself, would have made sure he had access to help. But Ivan Braginski could not predict the pain that came to him that day.

He was alone; he'd always been alone. He was not a Western nation, nor was he an Eastern one. He had a foot in both regions, and was thus shunned by all, considered different and foreign. It wasn't that he minded, but it was a lonely position. Even though he'd reached out to the West, pulled himself from the past, he was still distant. Thus, there was no one to help him that day, no one to witness the agony he was about to endure.

He'd been under unease lately, headaches beginning to beat at his temples with increasing frequency. His people were anxious, and with good reason. He had been floundering, struggling, pushing himself so hard to catch up with the West that he was careless. He'd been losing, trying to leap ahead only to fall further behind. It had caused him so much stress, and he could sense his peoples' unity wavering. His headaches were a side effect of these events, and yet he still had no idea of how much they could escalate in one fell moment.

A shot echoed in his ears when it happened. He looked up suddenly with a sharp intake of breath; there was no-one in the vicinity. _Where could it have-_

Another shot echoed, followed by an ethereal scream brushing his eardrums. That's when it began.

A stab of pain collided with his forehead and he pitched forward onto his knees, a short gasping scream forcing its way from his throat. Another stab followed, ricocheting through his head and lingering. He scrabbled at his head with gloved hands, clutching his temples and squeezing his eyes shut, willing the pain away in a sort of childish manner. The third wave of agony hit and he screamed again, rocking back and forth on his heels, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes.

_What is this? Why is this happening-_

Suddenly, the pain began assaulting him rapid-fire, pounding against his skull and spreading throughout his entire body, tightening his muscles and causing his entire structure to ache and shudder. His breathing quickened and rasped, and his heart threatened to beat through the walls of his chest. His grip tightened on the sides of his head, fingers wrapping themselves in his sandy hair, still desperately trying to will the alarming agony away. With the next stage of torture, he began panicking.

Screams echoed in his ears, reverberating through his skull and piercing his consciousness. They were screams of terror, screams of anger, _the screams of his people._ He coughed, and to his terror, blood rushed from the back of his throat, trickling down the side of his mouth in a horrifying stream. He screamed a third time, screamed until his ears rung and he could no longer separate the shrieks of his people from his own, screamed until his lungs gave out and his throat was raw. He tried opening his eyes and his vision was red and blurry, his consciousness edged with darkness from the loss of blood that was not his own.

He hunkered closer to the ground, shaking uncontrollably as the crippling pain and the echoing din in his ears reached a climax, building up and merging until he swore it would kill him.

_LORD, PLEASE SAVE ME!_

Suddenly, everything stopped. The world froze as the screams died and the pain faded as if it had never been, leaving his huddled form alone in the drifts of snow. He curled into himself, panting and shaking, until he finally worked up the courage to open his eyes.

Though the pain was gone, a feeling of uneasiness and anxiety had settled over him. There was an unexplained anger simmering deep within his core, something he could not name, but it was hidden under a thick feeling of shock and confusion. He could feel the sadness of his people, the death that had just occurred. He thought that he knew the source of the attack he had just endured.

Something terrible. A massacre. It would not be until later that he would figure out exactly what had happened, and in no way was he prepared for the chaos that was to come.

_I only know that nothing will be the same._


End file.
